


the hyphenation game

by nasa



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-06 00:52:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19051942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nasa/pseuds/nasa
Summary: "What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Rogers?”“Actually, it’s Rogers-Stark now,” Steve says, turning back to his book, and that - that’s the thing. It actually is. Because there, lying on the floor of Tony’s library, is a little piece of paper from the Department of Whomever the Fuck Handles Name Changes, saying that Steve Rogers is, in fact, no longer Steve Rogers. He’s Steve Rogers-Stark.Tony's gonna kill him.





	the hyphenation game

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [one-up](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14825810) by [ggrantaire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ggrantaire/pseuds/ggrantaire). 



Tony stares at the paper for a long, long time before his brain convinces him that he’s not, actually, hallucinating. Then he waves the paper through the air and checks the seal a few times to make sure it’s not a forgery. Then he asks Jarvis to check if Loki’s been in the Tower the past few days.

“Not that I can see, sir,” Jarvis informs him.

 _Then_ Tony gets angry.

“What the fuck is this,” he all but spits as he marches into the library, where Steve, of course, is curled up in one of the window seats, reading a book and sipping hot chocolate from his favorite Iron Man mug. The scene is so domestic it makes Tony’s heart hurt, but he convinces himself it’s just anger and tries to throw the paper at Steve. It doesn’t work; air resistance, and all that, and Tony’s attempt at a dramatic gesture just leaves the paper floating down slowly to the floor, a few inches in front of Tony’s feet.

Tony huffs, but doesn’t bend to pick it back up. Steve, from the window seat, raises an eyebrow at him.

“I’m not sure I can tell what that is from here.”

“Oh, don’t play that bullshit, you’re a super soldier, you can read fine print from a fucking mile away.”

Steve just looks amused. “That’s a bit of an exaggeration, honey -“

And Tony’s lost any patience he came in with. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Rogers?”

“Actually, it’s Rogers-Stark now,” Steve says, turning back to his book, and that - that’s the thing. It actually  _is._ Because there, lying on the floor of Tony’s library, is a little piece of paper from the Department of Whomever the Fuck Handles Name Changes, saying that Steve Rogers is, in fact, no longer Steve Rogers. He’s Steve Rogers- _Stark,_ and his new driver’s license will be arriving in a few days, if he has one.

(Steve doesn’t have one; he’s an annoying little shit and prefers to let Tony bail him out every time he gets pulled over for speeding on his way to a crime scene or breezing through red lights on his motorcycle during rush hour, like it’s  _no big deal,_ but, anyway, that’s not the point.)

“We didn’t agree to this, Steve,” Tony huffs. “I would  _remember_ if we agreed to this, but we didn’t, because you know damn well I can’t change my name.” Ah, the struggles of being the name and face of one of the world’s largest corporations.

“Well, it’s my name, isn’t it?” Steve points out, turning back to his book and flipping a page as if he’s actually reading while Tony rages. He probably is, that stupid, enhanced brain of his able to concentrate on more than one task at once, and it makes Tony’s blood boil a little more. “I don’t really need your permission.”

Tony raises his eyebrows, hands on his hips. “Oh, you don’t, do you?”

“No,” Steve says primly. “I don’t.”

“Guess you won’t need my permission to sleep on the couch, either,” Tony says, and it’s petty and stupid and he’ll be the one suffering tonight, when he wakes up and the bed is empty and he can’t go to sleep with the shadows twisted in the corners of the room, and he doesn’t care. Fuck Steve Rogers and his stupid fucking brain and his even stupider body. Tony’s not letting him get away with this scot-free.

Tony’s threat, at least, provokes some reaction, and Steve makes a face, turning to Tony. “Really?” he says. “That’s how you’re going to be play this? You’re such a sore loser.”

Tony clenches his fists at his sides and resists the urge to shake them in the air. “I fucking hate you,” he says, and turns and marches away.

“No you don’t!” Steve calls after him, voice just as cheerful as ever.

Tony waits until he’s just outside the library to mutter, “No, I don’t.” It’s right on the edge of Steve’s hearing radius; far enough away that he might not still be listening. Tony tells himself he doesn’t care either way, and goes to his lab, already plotting his rebuttal.

-

Because that’s the thing: it’s not that Tony’s really  _mad_ that Steve took his last name. It’s kind of - nice, if he lets himself sit back and think about it. Steve, wearing Tony’s ring and his name, so that anyone who meets him, anyone who so much as  _hears_ about him will know - this man is taken by Tony Stark.

In fact, initially, Tony had  _wanted_ to change his name to match Steve’s. Not change it to Rogers, god no - he does have some balls - but he’d considered hyphenation, way back before Steve even proposed, when he was still crushing from a distance, barely repressing his urge to fill notebooks with the words  _Steve & Tony Stark-Rogers _and tiny pink-glitter pen hearts.  _After_ Steve had proposed, Tony had spoken to Pepper about it, but she had shut it down with only a few words. “I’m sorry, Tony,” she had said, seeming genuinely apologetic, “But it’s important that you stay relevant to the brand.”

So Tony had nodded and accepted it and told Steve that there wouldn’t be any changing of names after their wedding. Steve hadn’t seemed too bummed about it at the time; he’d sighed, a little bit, maybe a little disappointed, but that was it, and then things were back to normal as he interrogated Tony about what he wanted for dinner.

But that little sigh must have been ruse, a clever little trick, because Steve, the sneaky little bastard, had something up his sleeve the whole time. Tony fumes about it as he works in the lab, fumes about it as he heats up a little container of instant ramen for his dinner, fumes about it as he fluffs the pillows in his uncharacteristically empty bed before he goes to sleep. He  _will_ get Steve back for this. He will. He’s not ready to give up the fight just yet, especially not to such a sore winner as Steve, who will surely be bragging about this for years to come - subtle digs or not.

Tony’s just drifting off to sleep when he comes up with it. A golden idea, akin to Tony’s best inventions. Tony sits bolt upright in bed, a smile dawning on his face in the darkness.

“Jarvis, wake up, baby,” Tony says, and the lights rise obligingly. “We got some work to do.”

-

Steve doesn’t want to say he’s  _proud_ that he managed to pull one over on Tony.

That seems like a nasty thing to say - to be proud that you tricked your husband into letting you have your own way. At the same time, though, Steve is sort of incredibly proud. Tony’s a smart guy -  _the smartest,_ Steve’s primate brain reminds him with a sort of preening glee - and it’s hard to get one over on him in any situation. That, combined with his tech - his omniscient A.I., his love of the internet and the worry that leads him to track Steve’s coverage in the news - means that it’s  _really_ fucking hard to get one over on him. Steve usually can’t manage it, only gets halfway through a plan to surprise Tony before Tony pops out of the woodwork with a surprise of his own, better and bigger and brighter.

Not this time, though. This time, Steve managed to get his name changed entirely without Tony or Jarvis’s help, or either of them knowing. Natasha had helped him do the research, so that Tony wouldn’t see Steve’s search history - not that Tony went  _looking_ for it, or anything like that, but he was always fucking around with Steve’s devices, trying to code them to work better, be faster and stronger, even if Steve told him they functioned just fine. Natasha’s, though, Tony didn’t dare touch, and so she printed out the materials for Steve telling him where to go and what to do, and he just - did.

He was expecting Tony to be angry about it. He wasn’t expecting Tony to be angry about it  _this long._ It’s been almost a week and a half, now, and Steve still hasn’t been retrieved from his posted punishment on the couch. Tony’s  _never_ made Steve sleep on the couch for that long before. Last time, he only made it four days before he caved in and came to join Steve, cramming himself in the tiny space between Steve’s back and the cushions, muttering snark against the back of Steve’s neck that counted for his version of an apology.

Not this time, though. It’s been so long Steve’s even considered sleeping in his old rooms, the ones from before he started dating Tony, down on the floor below. He doesn’t, because something about it feels like giving in to Tony, and Steve can’t. Not when he’s just won his first victory in what feels like months. He  _needs_ this.

So Steve’s still on their floor, in their kitchen, ten days after the incident, when Jarvis clears his throat. Steve, halfway through pouring himself a hefty bowl of cereal, pauses, setting the box down on the counter. “Jarvis?” he asks. “Something wrong?”

“No, sir,” Jarvis says smoothly. “I simply wished to inform you that there is an event occurring live that you might wish to watch on TV.”

Steve shrugs. “Turn it on, then,” he says, and the little TV in the corner of the kitchen blinks to life.

It’s a press conference - a press conference in this very lobby, in fact. Steve recognizes the marble fountain in the corner of the camera shot. The stage is still empty, but as Steve watches, Tony emerges from behind the curtains, Pepper in tow. He looks great, Steve thinks - he’s wearing that suit Steve loves, the deep, deep red that contrasts with his skin so well. Steve wonders if he did that deliberately, and that’s what Jarvis is talking about.

“Ladies and gentleman and all peoples in between,” Tony starts, laying his hands on the podium. The room is quiet; the press have learned not to make too much noise during a Stark press conference, for fear of missing one of the sudden revelations Tony is so fond of springing on them. “Thanks for joining me here, today. This is going to be a short one, so get your pens ready.” He pauses a moment, as if to let them prepare. “Both Stark Industries and I will be undergoing a makeover of sorts. Nothing too significant, but neither of us will be known by our maiden names any longer. As of today, Stark Industries will be called Stark-Rogers Industries, and I will be following suit.”

There’s a rush of noise through the crowd as Tony leans back from the podium, reporters preparing their questions, but Steve doesn’t listen to any of it. Tony, on screen, looks  _dead_ at the camera and gives a little smile, a winking glint, and, oh, that little  _shit -_

“That is all Mr. Stark-Rogers wanted you to see,” Jarvis says, and the screens flicks off.

Steve’s jaw jumps, and jumps again. “Tell me he didn’t actually just do that,” Steve says finally.

“I’m afraid he did, Captain.”

Tony finds him like that, ten minutes later, when he comes upstairs, already shucking his tie. “Sweetheart,” he says casually, though Steve can see the glint of mirth in his eye. “Did you already eat? I was thinking we could go for bagels -“

Steve all but slams into him, pressing him up against the refrigerator. He braces both his hands on either side of Tony’s head.

“What is wrong with you? Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

Tony just grins, quicksilver. “You’re gonna have to change your name to Stark-Rogers now, you know.”

Steve huffs. “Was this seriously all just a ploy to get  _your_ name to go first in the hyphenation?”

Tony shrugs. “What can I say? Stark-Rogers - it just flows off the tongue.”

Steve shakes his head. “You’re the most infuriating man alive,” he informs Tony.

“Maybe,” Tony agrees. “But I’m yours, aren’t I? Just take a look at my last name.”

And, fuck him, Steve’s supposed to be  _mad,_ he doesn’t want to be getting all soft and fond like this? But he softens nonetheless. “Yeah,” Steve agrees, leaning forward to press a kiss to Tony’s jaw. “You’re mine. Now take off your pants.”

**Author's Note:**

> HUGELY inspired by ggrantaire's Baz/Simon 'Carry On' fic, so definitely go read that if you're part of that fandom and haven't already! all credits for plot creation go to them
> 
> find me on tumblr at nasafic.tumblr.com


End file.
